


War and Peace in sonnets

by Shimyereh



Category: Voyná i mir | War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy, Евгений Онегин | Eugene Onegin - Aleksandr Pushkin
Genre: Borodino stanzas, Gen, Poetry, Pushkin sonnets, Sonnets, bylina, trochaic tetrameter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-15
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-03-31 13:07:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 45
Words: 5,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13975770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shimyereh/pseuds/Shimyereh
Summary: Retelling episodes fromWar and Peacein the style of Pushkin’sEugene Onegin, with occasional forays into other classic Russian narrative poetry forms. Recurring theme: What kinds of stories do the characters inWar and Peacethink they’re in or imagine themselves into?Reflections, vignettes, ballads, epic fragments, lyrical scenes. Sporadically updated in not-quite-linear fashion.[Mostly on hiatus while I work on a translation ofEugene Onegin. (Something I've wanted to do for a long time, and this project helped me get up the nerve to give it a go.) I still have plenty of ideas forW&Psonnets and I'll be back here eventually!]





	1. INDEX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm writing these in a nonlinear fashion, but organizing them here into book order. That means chapter numbers will shift around a bit as I add new poems. 
> 
> The numbers to the right of each entry are the order of composition, to make it easier to see which ones are new!
> 
> Additional behind-the-scenes commentary sometimes shows up in [the relevant tag on my tumblr](https://shimyereh.tumblr.com/tagged/w%26p-in-sonnets).

**BOOK I**

I.i.2: The newcomer (#18)  
I.i.3: The socialite (#28)  
I.i.6: Friends reunited (#34)  
I.i.6: Banished from Petersburg (#33)  
I.i.10: Among the flowerpots (#30) [ _fairytale ballad_ ]  
I.i.15: _Le terrible dragon_ (#25)  
I.i.17: “The Spring” (#14)  
I.i.17: The Daniel Cooper (#9)  
I.i.20: Fading light (#15)  
I.i.22: Geometry lessons (#20)  
I.i.23: _L'invincible Malbrough_ (#21)  
I.i.25: An old tradition (#7)

I.ii.1: The blue greatcoat (#27)  
I.ii.4: Pen and saber (#24)  
I.ii.8: A hussar’s prayer (#10)  
I.ii.10: The diplomat (#8)  
I.ii.12: The Tabor bridge (#16)  
I.ii.13: Kutuzov (#38)  
I.ii.15: Common ground (#4)  
I.ii.16: Herb brandy (#5)  
I.ii.17: Bagration (#17)  
I.ii.19-20: Schöngrabern (#31) [ _bylina_ ]

I.iii.2 (+I.ii.8): Thresholds (#1)  
I.iii.3: The maroon dress (#41)  
I.iii.6: A long-awaited letter (#39)  
I.iii.7: Telling tales (#32)  
I.iii.11: Clockwork (#11)  
I.iii.12: Mist and moonlight (#12)  
I.iii.13: Night patrol (#13)  
I.iii.14: A view from a hill (#29)  
I.iii.17-18: The messenger (#36) [ _bylina_ ]  
I.iii.18: The frozen millpond (#19)  
I.iii.end: A change of scene (#2)  
I.iii.end: That lofty sky (#3)

**BOOK II**

II.i.2: Austerlitz (#6) [ _Borodino stanzas_ ]  
II.i.4: Something monstrous (#22)  
II.i.4: To the barrier (#23)  
II.i.7: Quiet sorrow (#26)  
II.i.9: Arrivals and departures (#37)  
II.i.12: The mazurka (#35)

II.ii.1: The stripped screw (#40)

II.iii.1: Oak and birch (#43)  
II.iii.2: Radiance (#44) [ _fairytale ballad_ ]  
II.iii.3: The old oak again (#42)


	2. The newcomer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pierre (newly returned from an education abroad) attends his first soirée in Petersburg, in I.i.2.

The crystal and the conversation  
Sparkle in the usual way  
(Light gossip, politics, flirtation)  
At Anna Pavlovna’s soirée.  
Then _he_ shows up. Tall, stout, ungainly,  
And clearly new in town — but mainly  
The bright, naïve look in his eyes  
Is what most takes her by surprise.  
He starts (ignoring all decorum!)  
A noisy, passionate debate  
With the Abbé. He _has_ to state  
Such frank, bold thoughts here, in this forum?  
He’s causing chaos, all the while  
Wearing that good-natured smile.


	3. The socialite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Portrait of Lise Bolkonskaya, at the soirée, in I.i.3. (Contrast with Andrei’s perspective in [“A change of scene”](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13975770/chapters/32176698).)

She thrives in dazzling, well-lit spaces —  
Lively chatter, coquettish charm,  
Adoring looks on smiling faces.  
Needle in hand, one plump bare arm  
Rests on the chair; her quite forgotten  
Project slips, bright threads get caught in  
Tangles, as a guest regales  
The crowd with some familiar tales  
(No less _charmants_ on this retelling).  
Across the threshold, shades and night  
Loom large, but here there’s so much light —  
This polished world is more compelling  
Than what’s _out there_. When you can find  
Such joy, why leave it all behind?


	4. Friends reunited

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the soirée, in I.i.6, Andrei and Pierre have a frank conversation over dinner — the first time they’ve seen each other since Pierre went abroad.

Pierre smiles, not quite comprehending:  
“How can _you_ say your life is done?  
Mine’s just begun, and yours is ending?  
I’m nobody, a bastard son —  
Where do I start? Where do I go now?  
I’ve education, sure, and know-how…  
But _you?_ ” His friend responds: “ _Mon cher_ ,  
There’s _history_ being made out there:  
The greatest war…” (A bitter smile.)  
“And I’m stuck here in… _wedded bliss_.  
I know there’s more to life than this!”  
They sit in silence for a while.  
“…This fairy-ring I’m trapped within.”  
(Once more, that restless, feverish grin.)


	5. Banished from Petersburg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pierre gets involved in some ill-advised late-night shenanigans with Anatole and Dolokhov, in I.i.6.

There had been rum and other spirits,  
A raucous crowd, a daring bet,  
A third-floor window, bottles near its  
Edge, a bear. ( _How_ did they get  
A bear!?) Pierre’s memories are hazy.  
It must have been a pretty crazy  
Party. Then: a carriage ride  
(They somehow fit the bear inside).  
Before long, a policeman stopped them  
Somewhere near the Moyka’s bank.  
And then — a most ingenious prank:  
They tied him to the bear and dropped them  
In the river. At the time,  
It seemed like a _hilarious_ crime.


	6. Among the flowerpots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Young love in the Rostov household. Natasha hides in the conservatory and secretly observes her playmates, in I.i.10.
> 
> Deviation from sonnet form: I’m borrowing the style of some of Pushkin’s fairytale ballads here. It just felt appropriate for depicting Natasha. This may become a recurring theme. Also, I think it’s neat how she sees three people pass through the conservatory, and fairytales are full of the Rule of Three.

Dark-haired maiden of fourteen*  
Wishes to observe unseen  
By the other lads and lasses  
For a bit, and so she passes  
Into the conservatoire  
Where no other people are.  
No-one yet — but they’ll come walking  
Through here soon. She hears them talking  
Nearby in adjacent rooms.  
Lush green leaves and fragrant blooms,  
Slender stalks and tender petals,  
Ferns and branches, moss and nettles —  
Darting through the dappled space,  
Maiden finds a hiding place.

Footsteps! Someone now approaches.  
Whose calm, even step encroaches  
On her lair? Oh — it’s Boris!  
Him! The footsteps slow, then cease  
As he makes a quick inspection,  
Glances at his own reflection,  
Smiles, exits. Once he’s left,  
She springs up, a single deft  
Movement. _Should I follow after…?  
_ Sudden grin, then impish laughter:  
_No,_ she thinks, and ducks her head,  
_Let him search for me instead._

More steps! Now comes Sonya, crying  
Bitter, angry tears and trying  
Vainly to contain some grief.  
_Poor friend! Could I bring relief?_  
Sympathetic tears, unbidden,  
Trickle down… but she stays hidden.

Yet more steps! Now Nikolai  
Rushes in, and by and by  
Sees his Sonyushka a-weeping.  
_Now what? How my heart is leaping!  
_ “What’s wrong?” “Nothing! Leave me be!”  
(Maiden listens in with glee  
To the drama now unfolding,  
Jealous words and zealous scolding.)  
“Why don’t you go back to _her?_ ”  
“Her? …Julie? I don’t prefer  
Anyone to you.” They chatter,  
Swear true love, kiss, end the matter.

Leaping up with youthful grace,  
Maiden leaves her hiding place.  
Down the hall she dashes madly,  
Finds Boris, and greets him gladly,  
Drags him from the drawing rooms  
Back to leaves and fragrant blooms,  
Slender stalks and tender petals,  
Ferns and branches, moss and nettles —  
Leads him through the dappled space  
Back to her old hiding place.  
“Do you love me?” He stays quiet,  
Blushes fiercely, won’t deny it.

So she kisses him instead.  
In four years, they plan to wed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Tolstoy is inconsistent about Natasha’s age. Book 1 says she’s 13 in 1805, but then Book 2 says she’s 15 in early 1806. I’m going with that later option, which would make her (probably) 14 in this scene.


	7. Le terrible dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marya Dmitriyevna Akhrosimova (known in society as _le terrible dragon_ ) arrives at the Rostovs’ for the nameday party, in I.i.15.

Brisk knocking gets the hosts’ attention.  
“Marya Dmitriyevna?” “She,”  
A gruff voice states without pretension.  
Addressing the old Count with glee:  
“How’s things, Ilya, you old sinner?  
Hope I’m not too late for dinner!  
Best wishes for our nameday girls!”  
Adjusting sleeves and grizzled curls,  
She strides in. Idle conversation  
Stops at once. Her keen, wry gaze  
Scans the room; she’ll soon appraise  
The scene, share some blunt observation.  
She’s known and loved (and feared a bit)  
For her frank words and biting wit.


	8. “The Spring”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha, Sonya, Nikolai, and Boris sing a quartet for some of the other guests at the nameday party, in I.i.17.

After dinner, young folks gather  
Around the harp and clavichord.  
Julie goes first, on harp: a rather  
Gloomy piece, where richly scored  
Arpeggios gleam with melancholy.  
“What next?” “A song that’s bright and jolly!”  
“Let’s do _The Spring_ — our old quartet!”  
They find their starting notes, and get  
In place. Four voices merge and shimmer,  
Like flowing water, and the play  
Of light through leaves at end of day  
In golden glades. The sky grows dimmer,  
Then velvet-dark. Stars gently shine  
As they conclude the final line.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tolstoy doesn’t tell us who’s on which part, but I HAVE HEADCANONS:
> 
> Natasha is a soprano, but with a warm, dark quality even up high, and surprisingly vivid color in her low notes. Sonya takes the alto part; she has a pleasant, lyrical mezzo that blends well with Natasha. Nikolai sings tenor, somewhat reluctantly. He’s on the cusp between tenor and baritone (think dark tenor who goes baritone when things sit a little high). Boris takes the bass line; his singing voice is smooth, well-balanced, and lower than you’d expect from his demeanor and speaking voice.


	9. The Daniel Cooper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marya Dmitriyevna Akhrosimova and old Count Rostov dance the Daniel Cooper at Natasha and her mother’s nameday party, in I.i.17. This scene made me smile so much when I read it.

Among the youthful crowd, two graying  
Heads turn, share an impish glance…  
And suddenly the band is playing  
A lively English country dance.  
Akhrosimova, stern and regal;  
The old Count soaring like an eagle —  
His leaps and turns and nimble grace  
Are matched by her expressive face.  
She’s subtle, stately, and endearing;  
While faster still he twirls and weaves.  
(Natasha tugs on all the sleeves  
In reach: “Look, look!”) ‘Midst laughter, cheering,  
And wild applause — she wipes her brow,  
He strikes a pose, they take a bow.


	10. Fading light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pierre’s final meeting with his father, in I.i.20.

The room is just as he remembers:  
Mahogany and polished brass  
Gleam darkly. Like soft-glowing embers,  
The icon lamps with dark red glass  
Hang motionless, illuminating  
The final rites. A crowd of waiting  
Kith and kin and clergy stand.  
Pierre takes a candle in his hand  
(Like all the rest) and waits, uncertain  
Of what his role is, here and now;  
And what comes next; and when and how  
He’ll know. Beneath the hanging curtain,  
Those blank and weary eyes meet his,  
But who knows what their meaning is?


	11. Geometry lessons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First of two scenes at Bald Hills with the old Prince. The meticulously choreographed schedule of the household (I.i.22).

At half past eight, he greets his daughter  
In his study, in the usual way;  
Flips through the math book that he’s brought her:  
“Do _this_ and _this_ and _this_ today…”  
She works it through as best she’s able.  
The notebooks, lathe, and writing table  
Reveal his constant busyness:  
A cluttered space, but not a mess —  
The old man’s mind’s in constant motion.  
His views have led him to believe  
Life must be organized to leave  
No room for chaos; and the notion  
Each moment needs a useful chore,  
All time must be accounted for.


	12. L'invincible Malbrough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second of two scenes at Bald Hills with the old Prince. A father-son conversation that isn’t _quite_ a conversation (I.i.23).
> 
> The title is a reference to the song the old Prince keeps singing off and on in this scene, “Mort et convoi de l’invincible Malbrough” (Death and funeral procession of the invincible Malbrough).

They talk troop movements, escalation,  
Alliances, what lies ahead.  
And so begins a conversation  
Where many things are left unsaid.  
He frowns at his son’s animated  
Account, and notes how all he’s stated  
Shows he’s well-read, but too naïve  
To think of risk — you don’t perceive  
These things when all you have are stories.  
(Or maybe they’re just both too proud  
To speak their worried thoughts out loud.)  
He muses on his own past glories,  
And softly hums: “ _Malbrough s’en va-  
T-en guerre, / Dieu sait quand reviendra…_ ”*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * French: _Malbrough has gone to war, / God knows when he’ll return…_
> 
> [[Here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YqRpPMOaMIA) is a lovely recording of the full song.]


	13. An old tradition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the scene where Marya gives Andrei their grandfather’s icon, in I.i.25. Also partially inspired by a fragment of an ancient [bylina](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bylina) about [Dobrynya Nikitich](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dobrynya_Nikitich). (See Notes.)

“Now please, Andryusha, I implore it.”  
(Age-darkened wood, fine silver chain.)  
“Our grandfather — your namesake — wore it.”  
From faith or habit, each campaign,  
He always had. This humble token  
Is silent prayers, hopes, words unspoken.  
Her eyes are bright with thoughts, not tears,  
As she remembers simpler years:  
Their _nyanya_ used to tell her brother  
An ancient tale. How does it go?  
Ah, yes — _To face a far-off foe,_  
_Dobrynya left kids, wife, and mother…_  
When would-be heroes take their leave,  
There’s always someone left to grieve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _That is no white birch tree that bends to the earth,_   
>  _No silky grass that sways low,_   
>  _But a son come to bow before his mother._   
>  _Dobrynyushka bowed low before his dear mother,_   
>  _Seeking a powerful blessing:_   
>  _“Bless me, dear mother —_   
>  _I am off to face the distant hordes, the violent hordes.”_   
>  _And his dear mother said to him:_   
>  _“Why are you abandoning your young wife —_   
>  _Your young wife, your little children?”_
> 
> [My translation. Source text [here](http://a-pesni.org/istor/prodobryniu.htm).]


	14. The blue greatcoat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief glimpse of Dolokhov, in I.ii.1, reduced in rank but still wearing his old greatcoat.

The neat gray rows stand for inspection.  
Except — wait… _wait._ A flash of blue?  
The regimental commander’s complexion  
Turns a lovely purple hue:  
“Explain yourself!” he barks irately.  
The offender calmly and sedately  
Stands his ground and meets his gaze;  
A mocking smile lightly plays  
Across his lips. Reduced in status,  
Following that stupid prank —  
Well, not for long. He’ll earn his rank  
Back quickly. And the blue coat that is  
Out of place here? It’s his _right_.  
They’ll all know, when they see him fight.


	15. Pen and saber

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first time we see Denisov, in I.ii.4, he’s writing poetry. A letter to _her_ , but we never learn who _she_ is. I decided to explore that a little. Also partially inspired by the hussar poetry of [Denis Davydov](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Denis_Davydov), who is supposed to be one of the real-life inspirations behind this character.

He frowns: “I’m w’iting her a letter.”  
Dips pen in ink. The verses flow  
Across the page. (He’d briefly met her  
At a fête, not long ago —  
And then he left because, well, _duty_.)  
Now on the march, his muse’s beauty  
Gives him things to write about.  
That’s nothing new — and there’s no doubt  
She’ll never know. (Like all his writing,  
It’s for him.) His notebook’s rife  
With songs in praise of hussar life.  
He writes of heroes, feasts, and fighting;  
Writes odes to war, but knows its cost;  
Writes elegies for friends he’s lost.


	16. A hussar’s prayer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nikolai Rostov has a reflective moment during his first encounter with the enemy, in I.ii.8.

Grapeshot clatters on the burning  
Bridge. The air is thick with smoke.  
And suddenly, he feels a yearning —  
So different now, than when he spoke  
Bold, eager words of warlike duty.  
Beyond this chaos, quiet beauty:  
The gentle rays of sun that kissed  
Those drowsy pine trees, wrapped in mist;  
The hills and valleys, hushed and hazy;  
The Danube’s distant, gleaming line;  
The pale horizon. _Oh, how fine  
To be there now! Not here — this crazy,  
Brief, loud moment: shouts, and dread,  
And _ it _— death — watching overhead._


	17. The diplomat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Portrait of Bilibin, one of my favorite minor characters. First seen in I.ii.10, when Andrei visits him in Brünn. Goes on to make the occasional background appearance, including getting quoted by other characters in conversation.

He sits there, tracing idle fingers  
Along a teacup long since cooled.  
A wrinkled brow, a smirk that lingers.  
Not much to say? Oh, don’t be fooled:  
Perhaps not much in words per hour,  
But each remark’s memetic power  
Is legendary. What’s said today  
Will ripple out through each soirée  
In town for _weeks_. He takes a rumor  
And makes it stick — his wit’s no sham;  
Eviscerates with an epigram;  
Relates bad news with sharp-edged humor;  
In duels, or facing hostile hordes,  
Wields words where other men wield swords.


	18. The Tabor bridge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In I.ii.12, Andrei returns from a day at the Austrian court to find everyone starting to evacuate Brünn. Bilibin explains why… with perhaps a few more witticisms than were strictly necessary.

“Why are you packing?” “Oh, it’s frightful —  
You haven’t heard?” “Heard what?” “ _Mon cher_ ,  
It’s _très charmant_ , it’s just delightful!”  
“ _What_ is.” “This Tabor bridge affair!”  
He grins, and tells a lively story  
Of how three Frenchmen’s inventory  
Of clever words helped them to find  
Safe passage, though the bridge was mined  
And guarded. “Bilibin, do stop jesting.”  
“I’m not! I swear! It’s all too true —  
Where are you going?” “Not with you.  
Back to the front.” “I’m just suggesting…”  
The two part ways, not knowing when  
Or where (or if) they’ll meet again.


	19. Kutuzov

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A glimpse of [Kutuzov](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mikhail_Kutuzov) after he sends Bagration to head off the French at Schöngrabern, in I.ii.13. (Seen through Andrei’s eyes, like most of the historical figures in Book 1 Part 2.)
> 
> Pronunciation note: “[Izmail](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Siege_of_Izmail)” is three syllables, stress on the final one.

A heavy sigh. “The road we’re facing  
Is long, and troubles lie ahead.”  
The carriage rattles on, replacing  
Silences with noise. The dread  
Of what’s to come, the frantic flurry  
At headquarters, the haste, the worry,  
The desperation — not a trace  
Shows on that aged and weary face.  
At Izmail, a Turkish bullet  
Pierced his skull and left its mark:  
An eyepatch, and a half-moon arc  
Of scar beside his temple. Full, it  
Seems, of thoughts — he turns once more,  
Looks calmly at the road before.


	20. Common ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First of two conversations overheard on the eve of Schöngrabern. French and Russian soldiers share a laugh across the line (I.ii.15).

When you can clearly see their faces,  
The enemy holds no mystique.  
The front stand restless in their places.  
Unlike their officers, they speak  
No French. The Frenchmen speak no Russian.  
That doesn’t stop them from discussion:  
“Hey there, Sidorov! Your turn now!”  
Sidorov winks, and takes a bow.  
(His “French” is fake, but it’s _hilarious_.)  
They’ll soon all share a patch of earth,  
But that’s forgotten in their mirth —  
Both sides enjoying this precarious  
Truce in which they’ve briefly found  
A different kind of common ground.


	21. Herb brandy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second of two conversations overheard on the eve of Schöngrabern. A couple of officers philosophize about life after death (I.ii.16).

“What’s on your mind, old friend? Let’s hear it.”  
The soft reply: “If we could know  
What follows death, we wouldn’t fear it.”  
Outside the hut, slight breezes blow  
Across bare fields, fresh ditches gaping.  
“Afraid or not, there’s no escaping —  
That’s my take. Oh, you learnèd men!”  
“More brandy?” “Please!” A pause, and then  
The clink of glasses. Quiet laughter.  
“It’s the unknown. That’s what we fear.  
Above us? Only atmosphere,  
No heaven. As for the hereafter…”  
A shell falls, bullets whistle past.  
All talk ends. Both men exit, _fast_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The book actually has three officers in this scene, but I felt this poem would read better with two. The soft-spoken one is Tushin, of course.


	22. Bagration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Bagration](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pyotr_Bagration) appears on the field at Schöngrabern shortly before the battle, in I.ii.17.

Fast-moving shapes on the horizon  
Beneath a louring autumn sky  
Come into focus. Keep your eyes on  
Their approach, and soon you’ll spy  
Five men on horseback. Pay attention —  
Their leader gets a special mention:  
White horse, peaked cap, thick Georgian cloak.  
His manner and his form evoke  
A bygone age. (A flash of glinting  
Steel — that antique saber’s known  
Great battles, legends of its own.)  
Each detail of his presence hinting  
At history that’s built to last,  
And deep connections with the past.


	23. Schöngrabern

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scenes from the Battle of Schöngrabern (I.ii.19-20), retold in the style of [bylina](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bylina) fragments. In order: (1) Nikolai’s horse is killed in a cavalry charge, (2) Dolokhov distinguishes himself, (3) Andrei delivers orders for the artillery to retreat.
> 
> The basic form here is: string of [trochees](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Trochee) (usually four) plus a final [dactyl](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dactyl_\(poetry\)). In lines where that final foot is split across multiple words, I’ve marked the stressed syllable to make the rhythm clearer.

In the field, among the frost and stúbble-grass,  
In that open space, that bare expánse of space —  
A young hussar, eyes wide with uncertainty,  
Struggles to his feet — his horse lies motionless.

How they charged, rode fiercely at the enemy!  
Orders shouted, all the horses galloping —  
Then a sudden flash, a fall, and they sped on unnoticing,  
Galloped on and léft him here.

And where is it now, that line, that barrier,  
That sharp line between the two oppósing sides?  
Nothing to be seen but frost and stúbble-grass,  
Bare expanse of field, no sign of cavalry,  
Not a sign of friend or foe, just fearsome ambiguity.

…

Fair-haired soldier interrupts the general,  
Shows him trophies taken from the enemy:  
Cartridge case and saber, and a prisoner.  
Shows his forehead wounded by a bayonet:  
“I stayed at the front, fought hard. Remémber me.”

…

Now Bolkonsky rides up to the battery,  
Looks around and sees destruction everywhere:  
Shattered guns and bodies, many men and horses lýing dead —  
Shivers down his spine just at the síght of it.  
Still he nerves himself, dismounts, and húrries on,  
Hurries on, on foot now, to the battery.

“Captain Tushin, why are you still firing?  
Why have you not packed up your artillery,  
Packed up and retreated like the rést of them?”

Tushin turns and smiles sympathetically.  
He received no word till now of anything,  
No new orders came, none dared appróach this place —  
No news came, the cannons kept on firing:  
Cannonballs and grapeshot at the enemy,  
Fiery destruction to oppósing troops,  
Set ablaze Schöngrabern village on the dístant hill.  
In his mind, he saw himself stand towering,  
Bare hands hurling fire at the enemy.  
Off the field: a small, soft-spoken, nérvous man —  
On the field: a power to be réckoned with.

“Captain Tushin, why are you still firing?  
Gather up your guns and men and léave this place.  
Leave this place, our troops retreated lóng ago,  
None remain to cóver you.”


	24. Thresholds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by a nifty bit of parallelism I noticed between Nikolai Rostov’s first encounter with the enemy in I.ii.8, and Pierre’s courtship of Hélène in I.iii.2. Both are described in terms of an invisible line that someone dreads crossing, but knows they’ll have to cross sooner or later.

There is no line, no demarcation,  
But everybody _knows_ it’s there:  
A shiver of anticipation,  
A sudden shimmer in the air  
Between the hussars on their horses  
And the waiting enemy forces.  
(Six hundred yards — a bare expanse.)  
Meanwhile in Petersburg, at a dance,  
Pierre finds himself drawn nearer, nearer  
To words he thinks he may regret.  
The time will come, but not just yet?  
The boundary line gets sharper, clearer.  
The hussars brace for _that command_ ,  
And Hélène reaches for Pierre’s hand.


	25. The maroon dress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Lise and m-lle Bourienne’s misguided attempt at helping her get ready, Princess Marya prepares to meet a suitor, in I.iii.3.

At last they leave; their birdlike chatter  
Drifts down the hall. The scarf, the dress,  
The pinned-up hair — it doesn’t matter.  
They meant well, but she looks a mess.  
(She doesn’t need to check the mirror  
To know that.) Wishing for a clearer  
Answer to what’s on her mind,  
She scans the icons, tries to find  
The comfort that she’s vainly seeking:  
_Can I pursue an earthly love_  
 _And not lose sight of what’s above?_  
Outside the door, a voice is speaking:  
“The guests are here, don’t make them wait!”  
She goes downstairs to face her fate.


	26. A long-awaited letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Rostovs _finally_ receive a letter from Nikolai, in I.iii.6. A lot has happened since they last saw him.

Each day, he faced some new distraction:  
Maneuvers, cards, a feast, a fight.  
The hussar life is constant action!  
There hadn’t been much time to write.  
But in midwinter, their devoted  
Boy sends word: he’s been promoted!  
Also, wounded. (Sonya pales.)  
Enough of that — he moves to tales  
Of camp life, vivid, entertaining.  
The Countess reads on. In a ring  
They crowd ‘round (Petya marshaling  
His tin militia), not restraining  
Their tears, their laughter, the attack  
Of _feels_. They quickly all write back.


	27. Telling tales

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nikolai gets a little carried away telling Boris and Berg about his experiences at Schöngrabern, in I.iii.7.

Your horse was shot, you took a tumble,  
Some men approached, and out of fear  
You ran. This brief, confusing jumble  
Is not the tale they want to hear.  
Your friends expect a rousing ballad!  
(Nothing less, or it’s not valid.)  
They want bold action, derring-do;  
The foes you faced, and fought, and slew;  
Heroic deeds! What _do_ you tell ‘em —  
The truth? No way! Be epic, grand!  
There’s no such thing as “out of hand”  
If you can own your tales and sell ‘em.  
Your friends may not believe a word,  
But they’ll enjoy what they have heard.


	28. Clockwork

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I just really like that metaphor in I.iii.11, comparing the build-up to Austerlitz to the inner workings of a clock.

The clock strikes ten. Hands move serenely  
Forward to record the time.  
But look inside: it’s not so cleanly  
Structured. Outward face and chime  
Hide complex workings. Every little  
Gear tells stories. (Some are brittle,  
Some don’t quite fit, some were designed  
With other purposes in mind.)  
They turn, slip, grip, jam, catch; no notion  
How this affects some larger plan.  
Design your clock as best you can —  
You _can’t_ map out its every motion.  
Both wars and clocks are full of these  
Small could-have-beens and may-yet-bes.


	29. Mist and moonlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First of two poems about night thoughts on the eve of Austerlitz. Andrei has just returned from a war council and can’t sleep (I.iii.12).

He steps outside, breathes deep, starts pacing;  
But rash, unquiet thoughts persist.  
The night is still; his mind is racing.  
And moonlight filters through the mist —  
A shroud, a pale and gauzy curtain  
That turns sharp edges vague, uncertain.  
The future, like the hills and trees,  
Lies hidden — yet he thinks he sees  
His fate. _I’ll have my chance tomorrow,_  
_I’ll prove myself. Tomorrow brings_  
_Renown, or death, or both those things._  
(Oblivion and the quiet sorrow  
Of family are the price for fame —  
Your memories outlived by your name.)


	30. Night patrol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second of two poems about night thoughts on the eve of Austerlitz. Nikolai is on guard duty and keeps dozing off (I.iii.13).

Those hours when things blur together;  
That space that’s neither day nor night;  
Gray, shifting forms; dim, gloomy weather;  
Things more distinct by morning light.  
He can’t make out the French position —  
Where is the line, that clear transition  
From _us_ to _them_? It’s hard to tell  
When sleep has got you in its spell  
And dreams begin to blend with waking.  
“Na-tasha! _…une tache_ , moustache, stash  
Of cash — where is my sabretache?”  
He starts awake, and briefly taking  
The reins just long enough to keep  
Out of a bush, falls back asleep.


	31. A view from a hill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Napoleon looks out over what will soon become the battlefield at Austerlitz, in I.iii.14.

Pale sky above; below, clouds cover  
Every inch of the terrain.  
He greets the morning like a lover,  
Fresh with anticipation. Plain  
As day, he sees who would defeat him.  
(The allies think they’ll march to meet him —  
Ten versts, at least. They’re _very_ wrong.)  
He watches, waits. It won’t be long;  
He’ll give the signal soon, upending  
All their plans. The sun sits low,  
A scarlet buoy; the ebb and flow  
Of that white sea obscures it, sending  
Softened rays that barely warm  
The valley — calm before the storm.


	32. The messenger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nikolai Rostov rides across the front at Austerlitz with a message for Kutuzov or the Tsar (he’d rather find the Tsar), in I.iii.17-18. 
> 
> Retold in the style of [bylina](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bylina) fragments. In order: (1) Bagration chooses Nikolai to deliver the message, (2) Nikolai almost gets caught up in the charge of the Horse Guards, (3) he comes across Boris and Berg’s regiment, (4) he passes through the field of the dead, (5) he finds the Tsar in a garden and is unable to deliver the message. 
> 
> The basic form here is: string of [trochees](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Trochee) (usually four) plus a final [dactyl](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dactyl_\(poetry\)). In lines where that final foot is split across multiple words, I’ve marked the stressed syllable to make the rhythm clearer. See also: [“Schöngrabern”](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13975770/chapters/34359752) (I.ii.19-20), my first experiment with this form.

Sly Bagration looks at his regiment.  
Seeking to buy time, he sends a messenger.  
An important task, and deadly dangerous:  
Cross ten versts between the right and léftmost flanks,  
And (if you survive) seek out the general,  
And (if you can find him) then déliver this,  
And if all of that — well-nigh impossible —  
Then return with his response and bríng it here.  
Most of this he does not say explicitly.

“Go, seek out Kutuzov, and déliver this.”  
“And what if I cross paths with the Sovereign?”  
“Then you may convey it to His Majesty.”

Young Rostov thrills at the thought of méeting him,  
Him — the Tsar! His idol! Unbelievable!  
This is it, the chance that he was wáiting for:  
_I have a commission for His Majesty!_

…

Charging past, they nearly sweep him fróm the path,  
That long line of cavalry,  
All in white, a most majestic multitude.  
He resists the urge to join them, húrries on.

…

“Look at this!” a voice calls out excitedly:  
Berg, his right hand bandaged, saber brandishing.  
“Look! I fight left-handed now — unstoppable!”  
Tells his family history to the messenger,  
His whole family history to the messenger,  
All his knightly forebears and their legacy.

“I must go now,” says the weary messenger,  
“I have a commission for His Majesty.”

…

Two diverging roads lead to Hostieradek:  
One is long and winding, far from cannonfire,  
One is short — but bare, exposed, and treacherous.

 _If they say we lost, why am I hurrying?_  
So he turns to face the long and wínding path.  
_If the Tsar is dead, why should I sáve myself?_  
Turns once more and chooses the alternative.

In the silent fields before Hostieradek,  
One quick flash of movement as he gállops through,  
Breaks the stillness, draws the French artillery.

 _What would Mother say if she could sée me now?_  
_Here, among the dead, with cannons áimed at me?_  
Dodging shells that whistle past, he gállops on,  
Gallops on, not knowing what awaits him in Hostieradek.

…

In a distant field, beside a gárden plot,  
Finally, he finds him — far from everything,  
In this context, near unrecognizable —  
Finds him, but does not approach the Sovereign.  
No use now delivering those messages.


	33. The frozen millpond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In I.iii.18, disordered remnants of the Russian army retreat via the narrow dam and frozen pond at the Augest mill, under continued fire from the French — a sharp contrast to the mill’s function in peacetime.

Before it’s soaked in blood and valor,  
Before the gentle earth tones yield  
To crimson streaks and deathly pallor —  
A battlefield is just a _field_.  
The pond where the old miller, keenly  
Fishing, used to sit serenely  
While townsfolk came with carts of wheat —  
Becomes the scene of a retreat  
Where desperate, dying men descended.  
(Ice cracks beneath them as they flee.)  
War changes the topography  
Of things. And when the battle’s ended,  
And all is once more calm and still,  
The mill’s no longer just a mill.


	34. A change of scene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First of two poems about Andrei’s character arc in Book 1.

You loathed the hum of high society —  
Interminable soirées and balls,  
Each day the same. There’s no variety:  
Stale jokes, dull gossip, gilded halls.  
_Can this be all? There’s no more meaning_  
_To life than… this?_ you wonder, leaning  
To catch words spoken on the floor.  
Or not. You’ve heard it all before.  
Chairs scrape, the crowd’s attention shifting.  
(Hear darling Lise again recite  
That anecdote she told last night —  
You know the one.) Then news comes drifting  
Of Bonaparte’s latest attack.  
You leave for war, and don’t look back.


	35. That lofty sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second of two poems about Andrei’s character arc in Book 1.

In memorandums, dispositions,  
Minutiae of martial strife,  
Reports and councils, courier missions —  
You found a purpose for your life.  
(Or so you thought.) You dreamed of glory  
Within the framework of that story,  
So focused, you forgot to look  
Around — or _up_. It only took  
A fall. Your thoughts go calm, reflective.  
It’s all you see, and as you die,  
You marvel how a glimpse of sky  
Can cause such change in your perspective.  
What was your world, now feels so small  
When there’s _that sky_ above it all.


	36. Austerlitz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A pastiche of [Lermontov’s "Borodino"](https://ru.wikisource.org/wiki/%D0%91%D0%BE%D1%80%D0%BE%D0%B4%D0%B8%D0%BD%D0%BE_\(%D0%9B%D0%B5%D1%80%D0%BC%D0%BE%D0%BD%D1%82%D0%BE%D0%B2\)), but using the various stories and opinions about Austerlitz that are floating around in society discussions at the end of II.i.2. This one’s not a sonnet, but rather [Бородинские строфы](https://ru.wikipedia.org/wiki/%D0%91%D0%BE%D1%80%D0%BE%D0%B4%D0%B8%D0%BD%D1%81%D0%BA%D0%B0%D1%8F_%D1%81%D1%82%D1%80%D0%BE%D1%84%D0%B0) (Borodino stanzas) after Lermontov.

“Come, Uncle, tell what you remember  
About the twentieth of November,*  
And everything they say  
About that battle, brief and gory —  
Oh, tell me every single story  
Of how some heroes still found glory  
At Austerlitz that day!”

“We were outfoxed, though not outnumbered;  
And had our generals not slumbered,  
We would have seized the day!  
Bagration alone persisted,  
And I have heard it oft insisted:  
Had Bagration not existed,  
_Il faudrait l’inventer!_ **

The Germans, they use logic, writing  
Why it’s safer to keep fighting  
Than to run away.  
The French? Fine words of beauty surging —  
And _then_ their will to fight’s emerging.  
But Russians need no extra urging  
To leap into the fray!

There’s tales of men who fought unceasing,  
Felled all before them, thus increasing  
The enemy’s dismay.  
There’s banners saved, and constant action  
Of cannon-loading, and distraction…  
These anecdotes are but a fraction  
Of what went on that day.

Against all odds: Berg, wounded, stranded,  
Took up his sword — but now, left-handed!  
And fought on anyway.  
Some of the tales are dark and gritty,  
And some are droll and rather witty.  
(Bolkonsky died — so young, a pity;  
Of him, that’s all they say.)

Our heroes are to be commended!  
With better plans, it could have ended  
A very different way.  
And though the fight was brief and gory,  
Our men live on in song and story,  
For many of them still found glory  
At Austerlitz that day!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * This is equivalent to December second (1805) in the Gregorian calendar. (The book gives dates in the Julian calendar.)
> 
> ** French: _It would have been necessary to invent him!_
> 
> Also note that Bagration’s name is four syllables, stress on the final one.


	37. Something monstrous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First of two poems: Pierre challenges Dolokhov to a duel, in II.i.4.

The note arrived (unsigned) that morning:  
“Your glasses aren’t much use, _mon cher_ ,  
If you can’t see it. Friendly warning:  
Your wife’s been having an affair  
With Dolokhov.” The happenstances,  
The whispered hints and pointed glances  
Seem… But no. He _can’t_ believe,  
He _won’t._ And yet the rumors weave  
Around him, taunt him, set him reeling.  
He sees his rival’s cold blue eyes  
And mocking smile, and vainly tries  
To fight back an irrational feeling —  
A sudden, monstrous urge to get  
Revenge, do something he’ll regret.


	38. To the barrier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second of two poems: Pierre challenges Dolokhov to a duel, in II.i.4.

Bright, hazy dawn; a snowy clearing  
Among the pines. “It’s not too late,  
You know,” his second comments, peering  
At the space. “I’d hesitate  
To settle _this_ with bullets.” Silence  
Falls. Pierre thinks of pointless violence,  
And marks the distance with his eyes.  
He _can’t_ , he _won’t_ apologize —  
Blame weariness and indecision.  
This may end with a piece of lead  
In knee or elbow, heart or head  
(Depending on his foe’s precision).  
But feeling there’s no way to win,  
He gently smiles: “Well… let’s begin.”


	39. Quiet sorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marya and the old Prince receive news about the loss of Andrei at Austerlitz, in II.i.7.
> 
> The title is a reference to the earlier poem [“Mist and moonlight”](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13975770/chapters/33112908) (I.iii.12).

It’s not quite spring. The larks are back, sure,  
But frigid winds and ice-gray skies  
And frost persist. A tiny fracture  
Forms, then spreads. Unanswered _why_ s  
And _how_ s hang thick but stay unspoken.  
Routines unchanged for years are broken,  
And through the house a stifling gloom  
Has filled each corner of each room.  
Gilt candles flicker on an altar  
Until a stray gust blows them out.  
In the sealed-up study, feet pace about;  
The restless steps speed up, then falter.  
Each deals in private with their grief,  
Finds solitude, but no relief.


	40. Arrivals and departures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andrei makes it home to his father’s estate the same night Lise dies in childbirth, in II.i.9.

The doctor and the midwife hurry  
In and out; the heavy door  
Clicks shut behind. A constant flurry  
Of back and forth and back once more  
Across the threshold. Coming, going;  
Things lost and found; things hidden, showing.  
See Lise’s helpless, searching stare;  
The baby wailing, unaware.  
These lonely walls could not protect her,  
Abandoned here. Now it’s too late.  
See Andrei standing at the gate:  
An unexpected guest, a specter,  
His pale face framed by candlelight.  
Death, birth, return — all in one night.


	41. The mazurka

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Rostov siblings encourage Denisov to show off his dance skills at a ball, in II.i.12.

“Oh, come now, Vaska!” they implore him.  
“ _Non, non!_ A wallflower — that’s me!”  
With eager looks, they stand before him;  
Natasha gets him to agree.  
(And really, he was more than willing.)  
The band strikes up, the crowd stops milling.  
A sweeping bow, a click of spurs,  
A firm, stub-fingered hand in hers —  
And off they go! Now madly whirling  
Past the stunned and cheering crowd;  
Now dashing headlong; leaps, and loud  
Stamps, deft footwork. Once more, twirling  
Her around, he lets her go.  
“What _was_ that!?” He just grins, bows low.


	42. The stripped screw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pierre leaves Moscow for Petersburg, and has an existential crisis while waiting for fresh horses at the Torzhok post station, in II.ii.1.

The threads are stripped clean off, and yet the  
Screw keeps turning in its groove.  
You idly fiddle with it, let the  
Problem sit. Why not remove,  
Replace the broken piece? Not neatly  
Done. What if it all completely  
Falls apart? (You know… _your life._  
Your reputation and your wife  
Have suffered, as it is.) A steady  
Stream of people come and go,  
Ask banal questions, let you know  
The time the horses will be ready.  
You barely notice the delay;  
It’s meaningless how long you stay.


	43. Oak and birch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First of three poems about Andrei’s visit to the Rostovs’ Otradnoye estate in spring of 1809. A stubborn wintry presence in the woods (II.iii.1).

The slender, curly-headed birches  
Sway gently, flaunt fresh leaves and bark.  
But past their line, a huge oak lurches  
Into view: a massive, dark  
Old monster, lacking any traces  
Of spring. It clearly still embraces  
Winter’s bleakness, autumn’s chill.  
New life blooms all around, and still  
It stands there, scarred and scornful, leaving  
Others to play out _that_ role.  
And something echoes in your soul:  
Things lost, renounced, and past retrieving.  
 _Let others fall for spring’s old lie —  
We know the truth, that oak and I._


	44. Radiance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second of three poems about Andrei’s visit to the Rostovs’ Otradnoye estate in spring of 1809. The beauty of a moonlit night (II.iii.2).
> 
> This is mostly in the same fairytale ballad style as [“Among the flowerpots”](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13975770/chapters/34333389) (I.i.10).

“No, I just can’t sleep tonight —  
_Can’t_ and _won’t_ ; the moon’s too bright.  
Nights like this aren’t meant for dreaming.”  
Down below, there’s silver gleaming  
Everywhere — it coats the trees,  
Rooftops, everything she sees.  
Filigree of branches, hedges;  
Dew-pearls deck the outlined edges.  
Up above, a pale spring sky,  
Almost starless. One could fly  
Into that expanse forever.  
And one _will_ , if one is clever:  
Kneel down, crouch into a ball,  
Just like so! (“Look out, you’ll fall!”  
Sonya’s voice cries out behind her,  
But Natasha doesn’t mind her.)  
“It’s so lovely, I could weep!  
One more song — please! — then I’ll sleep.”  
Voices ring out, sweetly blending,  
Find a cadence, shape an ending.

And the guest, whose room’s below,  
Looks out, dazzled by the light;  
Hears it all — and doesn’t know  
How anyone can sleep tonight.


	45. The old oak again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Third of three poems about Andrei’s visit to the Rostovs’ Otradnoye estate in spring of 1809. The old oak in bloom (II.iii.3).

Along the path, the coachman spies it,  
Points it out: that same old oak.  
Except — you barely recognize it.  
It _can’t_ be. Surely, he misspoke?  
You drive past, but the image lingers:  
The branches with their gnarled fingers  
Show fresh leaves specked with sap-bead stars;  
Lush foliage hides the trunk’s deep scars.  
And suddenly — you can’t stop grinning:  
Joy, sunlight, spring! Why say you’re done?  
Life doesn’t end at thirty-one!  
A brand new chapter’s just beginning —  
Why close the book at such an age?  
Whole worlds await! You turn the page.


End file.
